


Experimentation and Documentation

by sinistra_blache



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Carlos Does Science, Documentation, Dom Carlos, Dom/sub, Experimentation, M/M, Sub Cecil, Welcome to Night Vale Fluff, and by that I mean eventually someone will probably bleed a little, but in a fluffy way, kind of, not in a Desert Bluffs way
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-11
Updated: 2014-01-11
Packaged: 2018-01-08 07:20:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,708
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1129883
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sinistra_blache/pseuds/sinistra_blache
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Carlos both wants an excuse to get Cecil naked in his lab and has been meaning to understand as much about his horrorterror boyfriend as possible.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Experimentation and Documentation

“You can tell me to stop whenever you want. I know this makes you uncomfortable,” Carlos begins, slowly opening up the top two buttons on his shirt. A dark but worn t-shirt shows underneath; a tour shirt for some obscure rock band. Carlos has many. Perhaps too many.

Cecil takes a moment, obviously chewing over his words. Carlos is glad that he’s doing this figuratively - the last time he chewed his words literally Carlos couldn’t eat for a whole day. “Well. Yes, Carlos, it does,” he replies slowly. “But that does not mean I'm willing to disappoint you.”

Carlos smiles. “You're so good.”

“Thank you, Carlos.”

“You're welcome,” Carlos pulls a fresh lab coat from the back of a chair nearby and puts it on. He motions to the table beside Cecil. “Take off your shirt and lie down right there. You remember what I said about using that voice of yours?”

“Yes, Carlos.” The hope was that it was difficult to forget the ten minutes straight Carlos had waxed almost poetic when Cecil asked if Carlos liked his voice. He made it clear that he wanted nothing to do with gags, that day. He wanted to hear every word and noise and gurgle and eldritch rumbling.

“Don't forget,” Carlos requests needlessly.

Carlos waits until Cecil takes off his sweater-vest and shirt and then pushes him down gently to lay down on the table. Carlos begins slowly and cataloging Cecil’s tattoos. All the eyes, all the lines, all the colors and all the tentacles. He can only document so much since it all keeps shifting. Everything moves so much more when Cecil’s nervous.

“Talk to me, Cecil,” Carlos murmurs while jotting down a new movement over Cecil’s wrists. 

“I'm worried about what you might find,” Cecil sighs. He turns his head to face Carlos. “You like what you see now, without looking too deeply, but what happens when you don't like what you find when you seek depth?”

“I love you, Cecil,” Carlos reassures, sitting back and pushing his glasses into a more secure position. 

Cecil gives his automatic and usually warming response. “Which is more than I could have hoped for.”

“What do you think I'll do? If I discover something about you that I don't like or, more likely, don't understand?”

“Oh, Carlos,” Cecil throws his arm over his eyes, though a few on his skin blink at Carlos. He’s still not sure if they can actually see. “I don't know.”

“Tell me,” Carlos prompts while taking Cecil’s arm away from his face and putting it back down to his sides. Some tattoos move towards his grip, some move away. It’s like watching oil on water. Carlos makes a few notes while Cecil works up his courage to talk.

“I don't think you'll leave me. Not for that,” he says slowly after a few moments. He’s clearly working hard to put his anxieties in terms Carlos would understand. “But you may treat me differently. I wouldn't be able to bear it.”

Carlos puts his pencil down. “Look at me,” he says, then takes Cecil’s chin in his hand and shakes him slightly until his eyes open and focus on Carlos. “Listen to what I'm saying to you. If I can't understand what I find, then it will just make you more precious to me.” Cecil stays silent, but his brows furrow slightly. 

“You know how I feel about enigmas,” Carlos explains gently, simply, and Cecil nods. “And if I grow to understand you better through this then we'll become closer. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Carlos.”

Carlos watches Cecil face for a long moment. Neither of them speak. Eventually, Carlos exhales. “Do you believe what I'm telling you?”

“I must,” Cecil says evenly. “The concept of you lying to me about this is devastating.” 

Carlos doesn’t say anything, but gets up to go looking through his desk for something that he needs. He doesn’t bother to tell Cecil not to move. He knows better, by now. The first time he followed after Carlos without being told to he nearly had his ink slapped off. 

Carlos walks back slowly carrying a tie that Cecil had bought him for his birthday. He’s not one for wearing ties, but that doesn’t necessarily mean he doesn’t use it regularly.

“I'm going to cover your eyes. Just on your face. Just two,” Carlos tells him and Cecil lifts his head to make it easier for Carlos to cover two of his eyes. “I want you to describe what I'm doing and how I look while I'm doing it. If at any point you feel upset, I want you to tell me.”

An image of a tentacle shifts and curls around Cecil’s neck. He’s still nervous. “Yes, Carlos,” he says. 

“You’re so good.” Carlos means it, only guessing at how much this must be affecting Cecil by how much effort he’s putting into appearing calm.

“Thank you, Carlos. Should I start now?” Cecil pauses. Carlos can feel his third eye watch him, though it’s a distinctively different sensation from when he can tell during Cecil’s broadcasts. More - prickly. Carlos raises an eyebrow in response to Cecil’s question and jots down some of his thoughts on Cecil’s third eye. 

“Ah,” Cecil breathes. “That look means that yes, I should obviously start now. You’re... taking notes.”

“I’m doing more than that and you know it,” Carlos replies casually without looking up. 

Cecil doesn’t reply straight away. He doesn’t argue or agree with Carlos’ statement. Though he worries if Cecil is too nervous to continue, Carlos keeps mapping out Cecil’s torso. “You’re watching my tattoos,” Cecil says, startling Carlos just a touch. Cecil’s voice has fallen beautifully into his radio host cadence. 

“You’re watching them closely. So closely. I have only ever seen you pay this much attention to - no. I have never seen you study something so closely,” Cecil’s voice is hushed. Awed. “All of your startling intellect is focused on one patch of my skin.”

That statement makes Carlos stop and tap Cecil on the cheek with his pencil. Cecil jumps, mildly shaken out of his descriptive lull.

“New rule,” Carlos decides. “No covert compliments to me.” 

Cecil protests. “But Carlos -” 

“Concentrate on what I’m doing to you,” Carlos insists, and firmly. “Not what I look like.” He waits for Cecil’s reply, and gets nothing. It’s entirely possible that Cecil is pouting. It takes everything Carlos is not to find that adorable. He taps Cecil on the cheek again.

“Cecil.” Carlos makes a point to be unflinching in the face of Cecil’s pouting. His tone obviously does the trick; Cecil turns his face just slightly, embarrassed, and sighs quietly.

“Yes, Carlos,” Cecil manages to make two words sound utterly apologetic. “I think I can manage that.”

Carlos takes a breath and exhales, glad to be over that hurdle without too much interruption. He’s expecting Cecil to take his time with starting up again, especially after being admonished ever so slightly. Cecil’s ease when starting up again surprises Carlos, but it’s soft and welcome. 

“When you sigh in relief and frustration that way, I can feel the heat of your breath on my skin,” Cecil tells him. Carlos: his captive audience. “It’s because you’re so close, watching the ink shift and move and become just skin or less skin or glowing or static.”

Carlos smiles. He nearly has his face pressed to Cecil’s skin. He can smell traces of the green apple hand cream Cecil sometimes uses. He needs to be this close because he wants to watch the ink move, if it actually moves. It might be an illusion. 

“I’ve never felt so...” Cecil trails and stops. 

Carlos looks up. It’s usually significant when Cecil trails off mid-sentence. “Hm?”

“I feel new,” Cecil’s face is screwed up, confused. He doesn’t know what he’s going to say before he says it, Carlos realises. It’s not an uncommon expression. “When you look like that, I feel as though I’m new and shiny - not thirty years old and jaded. I don’t feel the ancient years of the void throb in my head. I feel like you’ve ripped away my wrapping and are delighted to find a new toy to play with.”

His third eye moves around and its milky, pupil-less surface searches Carlos’ face. Carlos looks back at Cecil and they sit in silence for a heavy second or two.

“You’re much more than a toy, Cecil,” Carlos says reasonably. Reassuringly, he hopes. 

“It was a bad analogy,” Cecil sighs heavily. 

Carlos finds himself smiling gently. “I understand what you mean, though,” he says gently. “And you’re not wrong.”

“But am I right?”

“You’re not wrong,” Carlos replies with a definite air of finality. Cecil always pushes it when he gets a chance to ask questions. It’s his inner journalist coming out. Carlos can never find it too annoying when it’s done so charmingly. 

“You’re amused with yourself,” Cecil sounds mildly frustrated. “I don’t need any perception aids to know that. I can hear it in your voice.” 

“I am amused at us,” Carlos corrects. 

“Are we very amusing?”

“Right now we are,” Carlos allows slowly, then elaborates without thinking about it. “It’s amusing that you were worried about this. It’s amusing that you’re so hung-up on being right in your assessments. It’s amusing that you have no idea what I’m planning to do with you.”

Cecil shifts ever so slightly. Carlos’ smile turns more into a smirk. He hopes Cecil picks up on that, as well. 

“There’s more?” Cecil asks almost shyly. Almost. Carlos knows that tone to mean playful. He loves it dearly.

“I have you half-naked in an empty lab, Cecil,” he lets his voice drop to a level that is private and primal and all Cecil’s. He runs the tip of the pencil in his hand over Cecil’s skin, making it come up in tattoo-dappled goosebumps. “I would pretty much be disgusted with myself if I hadn’t planned on more than just mapping your ink. Losing my touch.”

“Never in a million years, Carlos,” Cecil coos. His blush is a red that isn’t red at all, like the color of fresh bruises. Carlos strokes his cheek lightly. 

“Not if I can help it.”

**Author's Note:**

> This was a Christmas gift for a friend of mine who requested a D/s Carlos/Cecil experimentation fic. I'm sure it was meant to be PWP in the beginning, but it got away from me and became somewhat fluffy and dialogue heavy. Whoops, I guess.


End file.
